


i need my love to be here

by blobfish_miffy



Series: requests! [3]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: !!, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Homesickness, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, John's a bitch, M/M, Men Crying, Short One Shot, american tea ain't it babes, apparently, george's upset, paul's a bitch, request, ringo's worried, set during their first american tour, starrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 13:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobfish_miffy/pseuds/blobfish_miffy
Summary: “Ah,” Ringo said quietly, “there you are.”**originally posted on my tumblr, requested by rufusrant





	i need my love to be here

**Author's Note:**

> rufusrant asked:  
From that sentence prompt list- 37 + starrison. X>
> 
> **"you look like you need a hug"**

He was a bit worried, he noticed, as he legged it; away from the makeshift breakfast hall with the baffled yet sneering pair that was John and Paul, and in the direction Geo had taken off in. It wasn’t… normal, and he was  _ worried.  _ It didn’t sit right. 

It’d been a normal morning like always. They’d plonked themselves into the seats in the privacy of a small conference room, indulging in the luxury of eating breakfast they did not have to prepare themselves, and had been bantering like always when George had made one of his usual sly comments. Just the usual casual, dark stare, apathetic tone, and sneeringly playful insult directed at John and probably expecting an equally as playful reply. But John’d probably been tired, or his tea wasn’t tasting right(Ringo’s wasn’t either, for starters), but he’d angrily snapped something about Geo’s age, uselessness, and general immaturity - bit rich coming from the man who’d pulled a fuckin’  _ fart prank  _ on Paul the evening before - and at the shocked look on Geo’s face, Paul had rolled his pretty eyes, taken a bite of his toast, and had said  ** _“exactly _ ** _ what ‘e means, Harrison”.  _

Now, the usual George(an all-round tease) would’ve laughed this off before plotting his revenge for later, but this time no such thing happened. With a  _ “go suck Lennon’s  _ ** _cock, _ ** _ McCartney”  _ and dramatic jump out of his chair, he’d stalked off. The poor waiter’d almost crapped his neatly pressed trousers at the glare that was given him while walking past, and the guy had barely dared to ask if everything was alright. John’d gone off on some tangent about the terribleness of his tea(which he was right about, it was fuckin’ shite and could probably unclog toilets), Paul’d stayed awfully silent, and Ringo’d just decided to finish his tea without gagging before going after George. It took a little while before he’d managed to swallow all of it, but Geo probably had needed to cool off a little anyway. 

Knowing that they didn’t really have access to any other part of the hotel and knowing George, he was certain the younger lad had hidden somewhere in their suite. Of course, he wouldn’t be hiding in the living area: it was way too obvious of a place to be brooding, and he knew that George would have absolutely zero patience for any of the  _ McLennon  _ bullshite that would come his way would Paul(or John,  _ probably John, _ the lad had a tendency to act before he thought) find him. This meant that he was either hiding in the bathroom(uncomfortable and cold, not a place where George, who emitted warmth, would feel comfortable) or their shared bedroom. 

Though he generally enjoyed rooming with any of his mates, George really took the cake for obvious reasons: it was easier to have a lil’ cuddle and a kiss and more _ \- ahem - _ without John or Paul snorin’ three feet away from them, having an entire room dedicated to their privacy. It was thus obvious to Ringo that his friend  _ (boyfriend?)  _ would flee the  _ McLennons  _ did not dare to enter without knocking. 

And he was right: George’d tucked himself into the little corner next to his bedside table, curled up in a little ball of angst. Ringo, with worry swirling ‘round in his gut, swiftly made his way through the hotel room and dropped himself carefully onto the lush carpet: George didn’t react, just stubbornly trying to get his breathing in check and focusing on what  _ seemed  _ like the lamp on Ringo’s own bedside table. His fingers were shaking, his eyebrows were furrowed, and his mouth was pulled into a painful grimace. He, quite frankly, looked  _ miserable.  _

“Ah,” Ringo said quietly, “there you are.”

Though he didn’t  _ expect  _ an answer, the fact that George didn’t even flinch slightly at the sound of his voice brought him more discomfort than it should’ve, and he bit down on his bottom lip in thought. _ “Well then,” _ he muttered, and he shuffled a tad bit closer. He was itching to wrap the younger boy into his arms and bring him the comfort that he needed, but he wouldn’t do that without George consenting first. Unwanted embracing could be quite distressing. “You look like ye need a hug, lad.”

And to his surprise, George - stone-faced,  _ “tears are a waste”, “smile, Ritchie!”  _ George Harrison - nodded feverishly and started to  _ cry.  _

Ringo leapt forward and threw his arms around his bandmate, who’d stiffly curled up into an even tinier ball as soon as the first tears had started to flow. George sobbed quietly into his shoulder, Ringo’s shirt now tightly gripped between his fingers; in return, Ringo clutched George close to his chest. He hoped  _ desperately  _ that his boa constrictor-technique brought even the smallest sense of comfort to the poor lad currently shaking and trembling in his grip, tears steadily soaking into Ringo’s shoulder. 

And he continued to worry: he wanted to know what exactly had set George off like this. There was no way John’s and Paul’s sharp replies to Geo’s playful yet snappy comments were the reason for this teary moment as the George  _ he knew  _ would simply refuse to even feel a little teary about that, no matter how much it’d hurt - he’d said it before. He’d always strike back with an even sharper insult and a cheeky laugh to make clear that he didn’t mean it all or shrug it off with an eye-roll and a snort. Never before, in Ringo’s presence, had George  _ cried  _ because of an argument he started himself. And so, Ringo decided when the sobbing ceased and was replaced with deep, inconsistent breathing, it was probably time to gently ask what on  _ earth  _ had just occurred. 

He ran his hand down George’s bony back, turning his head slightly to press his lips against George’s temple. “What’s wrong?” he muttered lowly, listening to the small hitch in Geo’s breathing. “Ye just stormed out of there all of a sudden. Couldn’t even finish me toast.”

There was, unsurprisingly, no reply.

“Ye left half yer breakfast there, son,” he continued gently. “‘s not like ye at all.”

“Wasn’t hungry,” George whispered back hoarsely, fingers digging into Ringo’s sides painfully, “‘s all.”

“Hm.” He didn’t believe  _ shite.  _ Being blessed with a jealousy-inducingly fast metabolism, George was  _ always  _ even a little hungry- even if he was full. He’d nick the fries from your fingers on the way to your mouth if he didn’t control himself(something that’d happened before. Paul’s offended screeching had left his ears ringing for days after), so he wouldn’t just  _ leave his food  _ without a genuine reason.

“Was it… was it what John and Paul said?”

_ “No,”  _ George snapped all-too-quickly, pushing himself away from Ringo and shuffling away until his back hit his bed. His eyes were wet and wide and  _ guilty,  _ lips bloody and bitten from his nervous tick. Ringo merely raised his eyebrows a little. “... maybe. Sort of.” A sigh, arms curling protectively around his stomach. “It’s  _ stupid-” _

“You bein’ upset is not  _ stupid,  _ Geo-”

“And they were  _ right,  _ y’know? ‘m bein’ childish.  _ Immature.” _

Ringo blinked, a little baffled. “Well, I’m sorry Mr. Harrison,” he said nasally, “but yer more  _ adult  _ than those two bastards combined.”

Pointy teeth started gnawing on those lips again. “I-  _ honest?”  _ a nod. “But I’m.. I’m the  _ youngest,  _ Ritchie-”

He did indeed look young right now, in Ringo’s eyes. He really looked no older than his 20,  _ almost 21,  _ years;  _ younger  _ even, like an insecure teen being told off by his favourite teacher for the first time. 

“So?” he heard himself say, leaning forward until his hand was on George’s knee.  _ “Age  _ doesn’t equal  _ maturity,  _ y’know? Look at Lennon. ‘m  _ convinced  _ he stopped maturing when he turned ten or somethin’...”

The little joke went either unheard or ignored by George, who had begun to bite his nails anxiously. “It wasn’t just… it wasn’t just  _ them.  _ It’s somethin’ else. And it’s  _ childish,  _ ‘cos we haven’t even been  _ gone  _ that long-”

“...what do ye-”

“I’m  _ homesick, alright?” _ The words were almost whispered, a harsh exhale of breath and frustration and shame. His cheeks had become an impressive shade of pink. “I’m homesick and it’s fuckin’  _ bullshit  _ ‘cos we’ve barely been gone for a week and it just… it doesn’t make any  _ sense,  _ Ritchie-”

“I’m homesick too.”

George’s gaze snapped up; Ringo grinned sheepishly and shrugged at the squeaked  _ “really?”  _ coming from the younger boy. 

“Yeah. I’ve never been this far away from home, y’know?” he picked at an old, almost healed blister on his pointer finger. “Hamburg, now that was different. At least we had  _ one  _ place, didn’t travel ‘round a country forty times the size of the UK. Every room is different, every bed - and the tea’s  _ shite,  _ by the way.”

“Tastes like dishwater,” George muttered. 

“Miss me mum too,” Ringo continued, now feeling a bit crestfallen at the thought of his mother, all alone back in England. “And Mo, even…”

George bit down on his lip again as he stared, eyes still wet and swollen, before he nodded to himself. “Now  _ you _ look like ye need a hug.” Another brief moment of silence, a pursing of lips. “Would ye…  _ like _ a hug?”

He darted forward, arms wrapping tightly around George’s waist as he pulled the boy into his grasp. His heart skipped a beat when laughed a soft, sad laugh into his ear. “From you?  _ Always.” _


End file.
